Well my school days have been keeping me jumping through hoops. It seems so much of my time is gobbled up and when I have a free moment I either crash on the couch or grab a guitar and play for a bit. I have been working on memorizing Walbert's arrangement of "If I Fell". I am feeling pretty good about my progress. I am getting the notes down and now my next job will be to really look at the timing and eventually use a metronome with the piece. These days I rarely have a sustained period of practice time and today when I grabbed my guitar to play for a bit during lunch, I felt as if I was greeting a long lost friend. The end of lunch signaled the attack of the teenagers and the conclusion of my bonding period.
Our weather continues to parallel that of Ireland. I have the weather for Clonakilty and South Bend posted on my desktop and it seems we are in nearly complete synchronization, temps in the 60's here and the same there, rain here sprinkles there. Yes, I am obsessing about Ireland.
I have been thinking about approaches to guitar playing and the contrast between what I do and what the typical electric rock player does. So many rock players attempt to squeeze enormous numbers of notes into every measure. If their guitars were weapons they'd be holding down the trigger of a music machine gun. On the other hand when I play I prefer to make certain each note is celebrated. I suppose if my guitar were a weapon, it'd be a sniper's rifle. The mega fast rock player doesn't have time to cherish individual notes. I prefer to give each note the respect it deserves. Of course I am far from possessing the skills of a speed demon guitarist and maybe my note sanctification is just my excuse for playing slowly and carefully. Let's look at this from the perspective of how the guitarist views his/her audience. That Maserati guitar player's primary intention seems to encourage a visceral reaction from the audience. There is nothing wrong with that goal. Some players seem to even assault their listeners by cranking up the volume to the point of creating at the very least temporary hearing loss. Now I have some real qualms about that because the potential for lasting physical damage exits. Perhaps this is the territory of youth because from my teens and through my thirties I willingly paid the admission to be a sonic victim. Still even back then I did not enjoy having "concert ears". Now I refuse to subject myself to those levels of sounds.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Reflections Part 2
It was wonderfully sunny and cool today with a breeze that rustled my hair into the pleasant disarray of an " I don't have to be at work today" attitude. I have actually had to move myself indoors to compose this entry because I finally admitted I was cold sitting at the garden table on my back deck. Now I've plopped myself into my favorite recliner. I have been quickly joined by Miyagi, our Maine Coon-mix cat who enjoys lying on my legs. Admittedly his body draped on top of my shins is providing a nice bit of radiant heat and therefore I will resist the urge to move against the somewhat trapped feeling.
This time last year John and I were anxiously preparing for our first overseas journey together. Previously, he had been out of the country as an airman. I traveled to England with Jim, my first husband and Naomi, our daughter in the summer of 1993. I again visited England in 1994 as part of a healing journey after Jim had taken his life in August of 1993. Both visits were hosted by our dear English friends, Dennis and Sylvia.
Here it is September of 2011, nearly twenty years since my first big journey and one year since the Lilly trip to Ireland. I have to admit I truly love the UK and Ireland. Of course this affection is filtered through a visitor's eyes. My friend Dennis, an English native, has told me on numerous occasions that although he loves to travel there is no place he'd rather live than in England. The climate suites me. In fact today's weather here at home brings with it a deep nostalgic feeling that nags at my emotions. Do you ever feel like you are in the wrong place? Today I feel that way. Actually I've been suppressing that feeling since returning from Ireland last year. I've been sitting here remembering what it was like to amble along the streets of Clonakilty and the other towns we visited, taking in the sights and smells, the feel of polished brick walkways, the narrow streets, the flower boxes, ancient stones, church bells, sounds of English spoken in a variety of Irish dialects and the sounds of the Irish language itself, the ocean crashing against craggy coast lines, the creaking of the old wooden floors that are everywhere that there aren't even older stone floors, the sounds of children running and playing in the Emmet Square, music...live music of all sorts oozing out of the doorways of pubs, hotels and squares. Guitars of all sorts carried by and played by all sorts of people. The challenge of navigating the road system, the gentle scrape of fuscia against the side of the car as I drive down the teeny tiny twisty rural roads. Clouds billowing across the skies. Brief showers that are shut off by the sun as it bursts through and transforms drizzle into glistening honey drops. The land of hills, stone fences, and dramatically craggy grazing land that only sheep, who dot hillsides like spilled cotton balls, could navigate without tripping. I am sure there are mean people in Ireland but we didn't meet any of them, so I am guessing there just may be a smaller percentage of them. Go ahead accuse me of wearing rose colored glasses. I really don't care. All I know is that the Clonakilty International Guitar Fest is just around the corner and I won't be there. Sigh.............Perhaps they could use a pottery teacher in Clon?
This time last year John and I were anxiously preparing for our first overseas journey together. Previously, he had been out of the country as an airman. I traveled to England with Jim, my first husband and Naomi, our daughter in the summer of 1993. I again visited England in 1994 as part of a healing journey after Jim had taken his life in August of 1993. Both visits were hosted by our dear English friends, Dennis and Sylvia.
Here it is September of 2011, nearly twenty years since my first big journey and one year since the Lilly trip to Ireland. I have to admit I truly love the UK and Ireland. Of course this affection is filtered through a visitor's eyes. My friend Dennis, an English native, has told me on numerous occasions that although he loves to travel there is no place he'd rather live than in England. The climate suites me. In fact today's weather here at home brings with it a deep nostalgic feeling that nags at my emotions. Do you ever feel like you are in the wrong place? Today I feel that way. Actually I've been suppressing that feeling since returning from Ireland last year. I've been sitting here remembering what it was like to amble along the streets of Clonakilty and the other towns we visited, taking in the sights and smells, the feel of polished brick walkways, the narrow streets, the flower boxes, ancient stones, church bells, sounds of English spoken in a variety of Irish dialects and the sounds of the Irish language itself, the ocean crashing against craggy coast lines, the creaking of the old wooden floors that are everywhere that there aren't even older stone floors, the sounds of children running and playing in the Emmet Square, music...live music of all sorts oozing out of the doorways of pubs, hotels and squares. Guitars of all sorts carried by and played by all sorts of people. The challenge of navigating the road system, the gentle scrape of fuscia against the side of the car as I drive down the teeny tiny twisty rural roads. Clouds billowing across the skies. Brief showers that are shut off by the sun as it bursts through and transforms drizzle into glistening honey drops. The land of hills, stone fences, and dramatically craggy grazing land that only sheep, who dot hillsides like spilled cotton balls, could navigate without tripping. I am sure there are mean people in Ireland but we didn't meet any of them, so I am guessing there just may be a smaller percentage of them. Go ahead accuse me of wearing rose colored glasses. I really don't care. All I know is that the Clonakilty International Guitar Fest is just around the corner and I won't be there. Sigh.............Perhaps they could use a pottery teacher in Clon?
Reflections Part 1
It is Labor Day, September 5th, 2011. I have been enjoying a work free day unlike many folks in this country who continue to suffer without a paycheck because they have been lacking work for months and even years. As I was driving to Fire Arts this evening I made a point of making a photographic record of the beleaguered remains of the Studebaker industrial sites. Nearly all the remnants of that once proud and vibrant company are gone. As I pulled up to the Chapin Street side of the remaining structure I reminisced about the times my mother and I would pick my father up from work. You see my father was not a pleasant person. He was an alcoholic in the grand Polish tradition which professed: Unless interrupted by sleep or food, one should be consuming beer or hard liqueur. My dad did not disappoint that tradition and it ended his life at the relatively young age of 56. He was a mean drunk and in retrospect I often wonder what drew my mother to pairing up with this man. Although they were destroyed in the fire that took my studio in 1993, I found evidence in family photos that alcohol was a constant companion for my father. It seemed as though every picture showed him with a bottle of beer in his hand. It was always a Drewry's because my Uncle Ed had the perfect job for a South Bend Pole. He was a foreman at the brewing plant. Oddly my Uncle Eddie seemed the least possessed with this Polish disease and he lived decades past my father who was his younger brother. My dad's alcoholism kept our little family strapped for cash, even though he did work a weekend job as well. He held a sales position at El's Liqueur Store, go figure. He was never paid in cash but took home his compensation in the form of fifths and unending cases of Drewry's. My Uncle El owned that liqueur store. This wasn't enough for Dad although because the evening ritual included picking up Dad from Studebaker's, dropping him off at the local bar and heading home until he called for a ride or had a friend drop him off. It seems as though any time my parents spent together was characterized by ugly arguments laced with copious amounts of profanity and ultimately with my father in a drunken rage, lashing out physically at my mother. Even as a youngster I wondered at the irony of driving to church on Sunday mornings with my parents explosively arguing all the way there and back. The only good thing about mass was that they had to be quiet. I have no recollection of my dad driving. I know he must have but......What drove my father's alcoholism? Maybe it was the realization that his life would never improve, that he was in a loveless marriage of his own making and that he was destined to work until death at hard labor that seemed to pay less than the rest of his family's and neighbors' occupations.
My mom held the family together by working a fulltime factory job as well. This was in that wonderful era when women earned 50% of the pay for working the exact same job as the man stationed next to them. This angered Mom intensely. She was active in unions where they existed and I know she became a steward at one factory and lobbied hard for equal pay rights. I think headway was made on that front by the time she approached retirement. Mom was an incredibly hard worker. She'd come home from the factory and then task herself with cleaning, cooking and sewing(which she loved to do). Often she complained of sore feet, aching bones and her hands bore the cuts and scrapes that evidenced the brutality of her day job. Now Dad on the other hand would come home and he was also grubby from head to toe but his evenings consisted of sitting in front of the television, drinking beer and eating his staple diet of crackers and milk. Mom did provide a supper meal but I cannot remember him eating it with us.
Anyway...as I was photographing today all these memories emerged. I grabbed two brick fragments that had escaped the confines of the fenced wrecking zone. I plan on placing them in the garden here at home, not because of pleasant associations but because they represent a bit of history. Someone decades ago helped build an automotive empire with those bricks, but as all empires must do eventually, Studebaker crumbled to ruin taking with it thousands of jobs and throwing the lives connected to the jobs into disarray. Studebaker was a victim of it own faults, symbolized by the only new car my family ever purchased. It was the ugliest thing....pukey beige and the cheapest model of Lark. It leaked oil from the first day it was parked in our garage. Mind you the milk man who lived next door had a Golden Hawk and the fireman's family down the street drove around in the splendor of a Red '57 Chevy station wagon. Yep keep that damn Lark parked in the garage. It'd be kind of cool to have that Lark in mint condition now but it'd still be way better to have a Hawk or '57 Chevy.
My mom held the family together by working a fulltime factory job as well. This was in that wonderful era when women earned 50% of the pay for working the exact same job as the man stationed next to them. This angered Mom intensely. She was active in unions where they existed and I know she became a steward at one factory and lobbied hard for equal pay rights. I think headway was made on that front by the time she approached retirement. Mom was an incredibly hard worker. She'd come home from the factory and then task herself with cleaning, cooking and sewing(which she loved to do). Often she complained of sore feet, aching bones and her hands bore the cuts and scrapes that evidenced the brutality of her day job. Now Dad on the other hand would come home and he was also grubby from head to toe but his evenings consisted of sitting in front of the television, drinking beer and eating his staple diet of crackers and milk. Mom did provide a supper meal but I cannot remember him eating it with us.
Anyway...as I was photographing today all these memories emerged. I grabbed two brick fragments that had escaped the confines of the fenced wrecking zone. I plan on placing them in the garden here at home, not because of pleasant associations but because they represent a bit of history. Someone decades ago helped build an automotive empire with those bricks, but as all empires must do eventually, Studebaker crumbled to ruin taking with it thousands of jobs and throwing the lives connected to the jobs into disarray. Studebaker was a victim of it own faults, symbolized by the only new car my family ever purchased. It was the ugliest thing....pukey beige and the cheapest model of Lark. It leaked oil from the first day it was parked in our garage. Mind you the milk man who lived next door had a Golden Hawk and the fireman's family down the street drove around in the splendor of a Red '57 Chevy station wagon. Yep keep that damn Lark parked in the garage. It'd be kind of cool to have that Lark in mint condition now but it'd still be way better to have a Hawk or '57 Chevy.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Not So Perfect Summer
In about 22.5 hours I will again be fully engaged in my daytime gig as an art teacher. New students will come flooding into my classroom. I dearly hope they bring with them the enthusiasm and energy necessary to light and kindle their creative spark. I spent most of last week preparing my room for the onslaught and unfortunately it is still not ready. That is the way it goes, one can only do what time and energy allow.
Usually I am able to approach each school year with fresh eyes and renewed spirits but this summer was a challenge to the heart. June was devoted to my father-in-law whose failing health led to his passing from the struggle of life on the 27th. I could write more about this but somehow this feels like private territory. Suffice to say I was left feeling emotionally drained and if you've ever been there, you know your body follows your spirit. I found myself, on more occasions than I care to admit, paralyzed by lethargy. Mood and physical pain contribute to this state as my arthritic knees provide me with pain as a nearly constant companion. Enough whining. I did get off of my butt enough times to be productive in my favorite ways.
I spent a good deal of time at Fire Arts in downtown South Bend where I am a founding member of this non-profit devoted to promoting and producing sculpture and pottery. This was the fourth or fifth year that I offered a summer studio camp for talented high school students. Three students participated and I believe each had a very productive experience. Penn Hs, Mishawaka HS and my school New Prairie HS were represented. The kids will have an opening on August 23rd where they will display their creations. Come on over to the Fire Arts Showroom at 305 E. Colfax between 5:30 and 8:00 pm to see their sculpture and pottery and share in their success. As these students worked I guided them when needed but for the most part they worked independently which was the goal of the experience. I used my mentoring time to create some fresh work of my own including functional ware and a couple of sculptural pieces. I also made a series of proto-type porcelain guitar slides. These were initially requested by a local guitarist. I took his requests and worked from there. I took some of these slides to the Troy Gillacamp last weekend and had just the right number to gift each player with their own Desrosiers slide. It was serendipitous that I had the right number of slides and that even though each was significantly different, each found an owner who liked that particular slide. Richard really liked the one he picked out. This has reaffirmed my decision to produce more of these slides. They are not the easiest object to make but if I can settle in and get consistent results that could make them marketable.
EVART 3.0
July was a month that brought two music experiences. The first was the Non-Electric Music Festival in Evart, Mi,(formerly the Original Hammered Dulcimer Players FunFest). John and I purchased a used mini pop-up camper to pull behind my Scion XB. Our goal was to make this third year of attending the festival a comprehensive experience by camping in the midst of all the other devotees. We had a great deal of difficulty getting started because of a dirty trick nature decided to pull on the day before departure. We had set up the camper as a practice run and to air it out a bit before going. A sudden wind storm kicked up while I was away getting the license plate for the camper. I returned just in time to see the wind pummel the structure of the camper forcing pole fittings to contort and snap. "The horror, the horror of it all." Clearly our departure would be delayed. I almost immediately began camper triage. I assessed the damage and it was extensive. I essentially had to re-manufacture all of the poles. This meant trying to source and gerry rig parts. I made many trips to the Lowe's, a marina in a nearby town, and ultimately worked into the wee hours. Finally got it working again, next adventure was installing a wiring harness for the lights. This had its own set of challenges and frustrations and I still think I have a defective harness. In the end we missed the opening day of the festival. By the time we arrived most of the camping spaces were gobbled up. Since our camper is so petite we were able to squeeze into a prime mini space and even had an electrical outlet to charge our phones etc. This spot was fantastic because we were actually in the thick of the action.
I put aside my trepidation and participated in jam sessions this year. I played in three different sessions, two Ole Timey and one Celtic. The Celtic one was my favorite since I really love that genre. I did not attempt to stand out although because I'm still trying to recognize keys by ear and sort out the best chords to play as a rhythm backup for the fiddlers who dominate the lead in both styles of music.
Our camping spot was located adjacent to a group of musicians who represent the center of a major solar system at Evart. The festival is like a universe that has solar systems located throughout the fair grounds. Each solar system has its own characteristics, dominated by a core group of players who know each other well and other musicians of varying skill levels, like myself, who are temporarily pulled into the orbit. The core musicians are incredibly skilled and provide the driving force. Saturday night is marathon jam night. The solar system, located near us and under a canopy of festive lights, literally jammed all night long. We fell asleep to the sound of dulcimers, fiddle, guitars, bass fiddle, tin whistle and bodhran and awakened to the same, albeit played much more quietly and with far fewer participants. Warning! Although the festival enforces a personally welcomed ban on alcoholic drinks and smoking, there are no quiet zones or quiet hours. Bring your ear plugs if you can't sleep with the sound of music in the background. I enjoyed it and found myself rocked to sleep by the surging rhythms.
We had a week's reprieve before heading down to Bloomington, IN. for a workshop that John signed up for with mandolin maestro Jim Richter. This workshop focused upon Blues and Rock mandolin technique, theory, and jamming. John's actual class-time was on Saturday. We arrived Friday late afternoon and checked into the Grant St. Inn, the B & B that hosted the workshop. I can only say WOW what beautiful inn. Our room was glorious and I spent hours using it as my guitar practice zone. I was invited to participate in two jam sessions that started after dinner time and lasted into the wee hours. These were informal sessions and I was pleasantly surprised to be included since I neither play mandolin and did not sign up for the workshop. I was also the only woman present. I guess mandolin workshops fit into Richard's "tupperware party for men" formula. Sorry guys for breaking with tradition.
Once we returned to South Bend, I felt the urge to force myself to start painting the livingroom area that had been on my list for over two years. I finished one wall area and started on the adjacent spaces, ran out of paint and now have run out of free time since school is starting. Hummm......hope it doesn't take me another two years to wrap this up.
August opened with one of my favorite activities: Richard Gilewitz's Gillacamp!!!! Another great weekend of immersion. This was my fourth Troy, OH. Gillacamp!!!! Damn time flies when your having fun. I count Gillacamps by the type of treats I bring. First year it was coconut cookies, second year it was the first annual Gillanut cake(Richard's Bday is in August), third year Gillanut cake with John's image imprinted on the frosting, and this year Zombie Gillanut cake. What the heck am I going to do for next year????? Well besides that annual treat we spent serious time working tunes: Last Steam Engine Train, Spanish Two Step, Yesterday, If I Fell(added spontaneously), Both Sides Now, Somewhere Over The Rainbow, and Steve Talbot on the Keddie Wye We also spent time with some warm ups, and slide guitar using exercises from Richard's new "Slide Guide" course produced by TrueFire.com. On Friday evening Richard also took out some time to add details to the music for "Dumonde Blonde". I've been wanting to add this piece to my repertoire. Gillacamp is pretty intense and even though I manage to keep up with what is thrown my way, I realize I will always be the "least" experienced and proficient player in the core group. This is a simple reality because my guitar buds, Leibert, John and Camille(when she can attend) have copious years of experience beyond my few years. John has youth on his side and the reinforcement of musical background with his school band studies. He has been playing out regularly and to say that he has family support in his endeavors is a huge understatement. I need to remind myself at times that this is not a competition. I play for intrinsic reasons, gaining pleasure from the challenge and expressive nature of music. I always want to do better. I come home from Gillacamp humbled and with more repertoire and skill targets for which to aim.
I had the dreaded realization that as the beginning of school approached I did not feel renewed from summer break as I usually do. The beginning of summer left me sucked dry for a bit. Like a drought-drained well, my energy level is only now beginning to show signs of recovery. Here's hoping that the students and their energy(positive) will dump some healthy buckets of spiritual water into my vessel.
Usually I am able to approach each school year with fresh eyes and renewed spirits but this summer was a challenge to the heart. June was devoted to my father-in-law whose failing health led to his passing from the struggle of life on the 27th. I could write more about this but somehow this feels like private territory. Suffice to say I was left feeling emotionally drained and if you've ever been there, you know your body follows your spirit. I found myself, on more occasions than I care to admit, paralyzed by lethargy. Mood and physical pain contribute to this state as my arthritic knees provide me with pain as a nearly constant companion. Enough whining. I did get off of my butt enough times to be productive in my favorite ways.
I spent a good deal of time at Fire Arts in downtown South Bend where I am a founding member of this non-profit devoted to promoting and producing sculpture and pottery. This was the fourth or fifth year that I offered a summer studio camp for talented high school students. Three students participated and I believe each had a very productive experience. Penn Hs, Mishawaka HS and my school New Prairie HS were represented. The kids will have an opening on August 23rd where they will display their creations. Come on over to the Fire Arts Showroom at 305 E. Colfax between 5:30 and 8:00 pm to see their sculpture and pottery and share in their success. As these students worked I guided them when needed but for the most part they worked independently which was the goal of the experience. I used my mentoring time to create some fresh work of my own including functional ware and a couple of sculptural pieces. I also made a series of proto-type porcelain guitar slides. These were initially requested by a local guitarist. I took his requests and worked from there. I took some of these slides to the Troy Gillacamp last weekend and had just the right number to gift each player with their own Desrosiers slide. It was serendipitous that I had the right number of slides and that even though each was significantly different, each found an owner who liked that particular slide. Richard really liked the one he picked out. This has reaffirmed my decision to produce more of these slides. They are not the easiest object to make but if I can settle in and get consistent results that could make them marketable.
EVART 3.0
July was a month that brought two music experiences. The first was the Non-Electric Music Festival in Evart, Mi,(formerly the Original Hammered Dulcimer Players FunFest). John and I purchased a used mini pop-up camper to pull behind my Scion XB. Our goal was to make this third year of attending the festival a comprehensive experience by camping in the midst of all the other devotees. We had a great deal of difficulty getting started because of a dirty trick nature decided to pull on the day before departure. We had set up the camper as a practice run and to air it out a bit before going. A sudden wind storm kicked up while I was away getting the license plate for the camper. I returned just in time to see the wind pummel the structure of the camper forcing pole fittings to contort and snap. "The horror, the horror of it all." Clearly our departure would be delayed. I almost immediately began camper triage. I assessed the damage and it was extensive. I essentially had to re-manufacture all of the poles. This meant trying to source and gerry rig parts. I made many trips to the Lowe's, a marina in a nearby town, and ultimately worked into the wee hours. Finally got it working again, next adventure was installing a wiring harness for the lights. This had its own set of challenges and frustrations and I still think I have a defective harness. In the end we missed the opening day of the festival. By the time we arrived most of the camping spaces were gobbled up. Since our camper is so petite we were able to squeeze into a prime mini space and even had an electrical outlet to charge our phones etc. This spot was fantastic because we were actually in the thick of the action.
I put aside my trepidation and participated in jam sessions this year. I played in three different sessions, two Ole Timey and one Celtic. The Celtic one was my favorite since I really love that genre. I did not attempt to stand out although because I'm still trying to recognize keys by ear and sort out the best chords to play as a rhythm backup for the fiddlers who dominate the lead in both styles of music.
Our camping spot was located adjacent to a group of musicians who represent the center of a major solar system at Evart. The festival is like a universe that has solar systems located throughout the fair grounds. Each solar system has its own characteristics, dominated by a core group of players who know each other well and other musicians of varying skill levels, like myself, who are temporarily pulled into the orbit. The core musicians are incredibly skilled and provide the driving force. Saturday night is marathon jam night. The solar system, located near us and under a canopy of festive lights, literally jammed all night long. We fell asleep to the sound of dulcimers, fiddle, guitars, bass fiddle, tin whistle and bodhran and awakened to the same, albeit played much more quietly and with far fewer participants. Warning! Although the festival enforces a personally welcomed ban on alcoholic drinks and smoking, there are no quiet zones or quiet hours. Bring your ear plugs if you can't sleep with the sound of music in the background. I enjoyed it and found myself rocked to sleep by the surging rhythms.
We had a week's reprieve before heading down to Bloomington, IN. for a workshop that John signed up for with mandolin maestro Jim Richter. This workshop focused upon Blues and Rock mandolin technique, theory, and jamming. John's actual class-time was on Saturday. We arrived Friday late afternoon and checked into the Grant St. Inn, the B & B that hosted the workshop. I can only say WOW what beautiful inn. Our room was glorious and I spent hours using it as my guitar practice zone. I was invited to participate in two jam sessions that started after dinner time and lasted into the wee hours. These were informal sessions and I was pleasantly surprised to be included since I neither play mandolin and did not sign up for the workshop. I was also the only woman present. I guess mandolin workshops fit into Richard's "tupperware party for men" formula. Sorry guys for breaking with tradition.
Once we returned to South Bend, I felt the urge to force myself to start painting the livingroom area that had been on my list for over two years. I finished one wall area and started on the adjacent spaces, ran out of paint and now have run out of free time since school is starting. Hummm......hope it doesn't take me another two years to wrap this up.
August opened with one of my favorite activities: Richard Gilewitz's Gillacamp!!!! Another great weekend of immersion. This was my fourth Troy, OH. Gillacamp!!!! Damn time flies when your having fun. I count Gillacamps by the type of treats I bring. First year it was coconut cookies, second year it was the first annual Gillanut cake(Richard's Bday is in August), third year Gillanut cake with John's image imprinted on the frosting, and this year Zombie Gillanut cake. What the heck am I going to do for next year????? Well besides that annual treat we spent serious time working tunes: Last Steam Engine Train, Spanish Two Step, Yesterday, If I Fell(added spontaneously), Both Sides Now, Somewhere Over The Rainbow, and Steve Talbot on the Keddie Wye We also spent time with some warm ups, and slide guitar using exercises from Richard's new "Slide Guide" course produced by TrueFire.com. On Friday evening Richard also took out some time to add details to the music for "Dumonde Blonde". I've been wanting to add this piece to my repertoire. Gillacamp is pretty intense and even though I manage to keep up with what is thrown my way, I realize I will always be the "least" experienced and proficient player in the core group. This is a simple reality because my guitar buds, Leibert, John and Camille(when she can attend) have copious years of experience beyond my few years. John has youth on his side and the reinforcement of musical background with his school band studies. He has been playing out regularly and to say that he has family support in his endeavors is a huge understatement. I need to remind myself at times that this is not a competition. I play for intrinsic reasons, gaining pleasure from the challenge and expressive nature of music. I always want to do better. I come home from Gillacamp humbled and with more repertoire and skill targets for which to aim.
I had the dreaded realization that as the beginning of school approached I did not feel renewed from summer break as I usually do. The beginning of summer left me sucked dry for a bit. Like a drought-drained well, my energy level is only now beginning to show signs of recovery. Here's hoping that the students and their energy(positive) will dump some healthy buckets of spiritual water into my vessel.
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